


From Rauros to Cirith Ungol

by Ithiliana



Series: The Roads of Middle-earth [3]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiliana/pseuds/Ithiliana





	From Rauros to Cirith Ungol

_**February 26 - March 4, 3018**_

Frodo dropped his pack and stretched, drawing moist air deep into his lungs. The heavy air caught in his throat, smelled of mud and rottenness. He was exhausted, his shoulders, back and hips aching. The portage down the old North Stair had been as hard as he'd feared. The way was steep, treacherous with loose stones and fallen debris sliding underfoot. Frodo and Faramir had each fallen several times.

Sitting on a log polished silver by wind and water, Frodo looked back the way they had come, wondered how long it had been since anyone had taken that path. Faramir said that the Argonath marked the boundary of the old Kingdom of Gondor.

Yet in recent years, the Steward's control over these lands had been lost. Orcs roamed the Eastern shores. Lawless men took refuge in the wilderness. The soldiers of Gondor had pulled back. They no longer maintained all the Outposts they once had, concentrating their forces at Cair Andros, Osgiliath, Henneth Annûn, turning their attention to the East, keeping guard against Mordor, trusting in the Rohirrim at their backs to protect the lands to the West.

Looking up, wincing as the movement woke new pains, Frodo tried to estimate the distance they'd come. The sun was setting behind the distant mountains, the first star shining in the deepening blue of the sky. This day had seemed longer than a week in the Shire.

Dully, Frodo remembered Boromir's attempt to take the Ring, his fight with Faramir, the news that Merry and Pippin had been taken by giant Orcs bearing the sign of the White Hand. And now he and Faramir had to travel on alone, to try to win their way into Mordor.

The twilight made seeing any distance hard. After they had carried their packs and boat down the old way, they had moved some distance from the foot of the Falls, walking slowly over the rough ground, leaving the earthshaking roar of Rauros Falls far enough behind that they could speak to each other.

Looking to his left, Frodo could still see the immensity of the falls, hear the roar as water fell, see the shimmering veil that rose into the sky, flushed pink in the last light of this day.

Before them, Anduin spread out from the foot of the falls, no longer the narrow river moving swiftly between hills and forests that they had traveled on from Lothlorien. Now, on the plains, it became lazy, moving slowly, widening to meet waters coming from Fangorn, drifting between reeds and tall plumed grasses the wind sighed through.

Frodo remembered what Celeborn had spoken in Lothlorien as he had counseled them regarding the way they should take:

_ That is a wide region of sluggish fen where the stream becomes tortuous and much divided. There the Entwash flows in by many mouths from the Forest of Fangorn in the west. About that stream, on this side of the Great River, lies Rohan. On the further side are the bleak hills of the Emyn Muil. The wind blows from the East there, for they look out over the Dead Marshes and the Noman-lands to Cirith Gorgor and the black gates of Mordor._

Faramir had urged Frodo not to try to travel through the Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes, so they must face the Wetwang despite Celeborn's advice. And Minas Morgul. Watching the river disappear into what seemed to be a vast lake that lay shimmering to the south as far as the eye could see, Frodo shook his head.

It seemed impossible. But then it always had.

Faramir knelt close by. He'd set the boat up on its side, braced against thick branches, to hide them from unfriendly eyes on the eastern shore. Perhaps it was the dim light, but Frodo thought that the boat seemed to take on not only the colour but the shapes of the dead trees that lay scattered around them.

He watched as Faramir searched his pack, then rose and came to where Frodo was sitting. Faramir carried two leaf-wrapped packets and one of their water bottles.

"Are you hungry, Frodo?"

Among the other aches, Frodo's stomach reminded him that it existed. He nodded and held out his hand for the waybread Faramir offered him.

Faramir settled down on the ground, his back braced against the log Frodo was sitting on, and held out his arms. Frodo rose, allowed Faramir to draw him into his lap, and began to eat the _lembas_.

After swallowing the last morsel of his meal, Frodo relaxed for the first time in what seemed like days. Faramir's arms were around him, his body under Frodo warm and strong. Leaning back, soothed by the rhythm of Faramir's breath, Frodo closed his eyes.

They sat for a while, listening to the sounds of the river, the gentle roar of the falls upstream, the booming thrums of frogs nearby, high-pitched creakings and buzzings that reminded Frodo uneasily of the Midgewater Marshes.

"Water?" Faramir's voice was low, pitched only for Frodo's ear.

Frodo opened his eyes, took the bottle, and drank thirstily.

"We'll have to boil and strain the water from the River now," Faramir said. "I don't trust it. Or the waters that run into it from the plains. So much is rotten, the water moving too slowly to cleanse itself."

Frodo handed the leather bottle back to Faramir, leaned back against him. "What now?" he asked. He was exhausted, but did not think he could sleep. Was afraid that he would dream. Again.

Frodo felt Faramir's chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath, held it, released it. "I think we should travel at night," Faramir said. "Orcs are on the eastern shore, and we would be easy targets in daylight. We can sleep during the day."

Frodo nodded. It made sense. But he'd realized one thing as he sat alone. And he was afraid he would have to argue with Faramir.

"You have to let me stand a watch from now on," he said. "We have to take turns."

On the journey from Rivendell to Rauros, Aragorn, Boromir and Faramir, along with Legolas, and Gimli, and on occasion Gandalf, who seemed to need very little sleep, had taken turns standing guard. They had not let any of the hobbits watch as the Company slept.

Frodo felt Faramir shift under him, his arm tightening around Frodo.

"I don't think," Faramir started to say, but Frodo interrupted him.

"You cannot do it alone," Frodo said firmly.

"Very well, Frodo. I cannot deny it. Do you feel able to start our journey tonight?"

Frodo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His fears for Merry and Pippin surged again, and he forced them down. He had to trust that Aragorn and the others would save his cousins. All Frodo could do, with Faramir's help, was continue with his quest. And starting tonight would be better than trying to sleep.

Slowly, reluctantly, Frodo left Faramir's lap. Feeling chilled by the damp night air, he helped Faramir move their boat to the water, load it with their packs,

Before they launched the boat, Faramir leaned forward. "Here, Frodo," he said, pressing several dry crackling things into his hand.

"What is it?"

"A stimulant we use in Gondor. Chew it for a while, then when all the flavour is gone, spit it out. You'll be more alert. I don't have much of it left, but I think we need it tonight."

Frodo smelled the leaves, curious, sniffing the unfamiliar spicy odor. Popped the leaves in his mouth, chewed. It took a while for his saliva to moisten the crunchy leaves, but then a flood of flavour, stronger and spicier, but similar to the mint tea Sam's mother served, flooded his mouth. The herb did not work as well as Elrond's cordial, but the clean flavour soothed his mouth, lessened some of his aches, and left him able to climb into the boat and pick up his paddle with more energy when Faramir launched them into the sluggish current of the River.

Under the stars, Frodo and Faramir began their journey through the Wetwang.

Without Faramir, Frodo realized he would soon have been lost. The river's current was so slow and its course so meandering that they could not trust to it. They had to paddle to make any headway. Faramir knew the stars and land well enough to keep them mostly on course.

Their progress was much slower than the Company had been able to make on the River when they left Lothlorien. They had to paddle more and often had to work their way out of a dead end back to the main current.

They traveled at night, cloaks drawn around them, paddling as quietly as they could.

When first light of dawn began to show each morning, they looked for a place to sleep.

After the first couple of nights, Frodo began to wish they had chosen the passage over Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes. Traveling by boat all night left him cold and stiff, worn from the strain of trying to see in the dark, but not always tired enough to sleep on the soggy ground. Then, during the day, the moist air warmed, leaving him feeling sticky and unpleasantly hot.

Faramir would not let them talk at night as they traveled, cautioning Frodo about how sound carried over water. The only good thing about traveling at night, Frodo thought, was that the noisy bugs he'd heard when they'd first started this part of their journey were active during the day. However, they did make noise and bite him while he was trying to sleep.

During the day, they huddled under what cover they could find, mostly tall reeds and grass, the boat tipped to shield them, taking turns sleeping and watching. The conditions by the River were damp, with mist rising at dawn and dusk, and often present most of the day. If they kept their voices low, Faramir allowed talking during their meagre breakfast and daymeal.

The first thing Faramir did every morning at full light was strain water through fine cloth, taken from one of Frodo's old shirts. He would then build a small fire behind the shelter of the boat and boil the water. Seeing--and smelling--the brown water and the stains left on the cloth, Frodo was glad for this precaution.

Faramir also set out fish lines morning and evening to catch fish, telling Frodo they should keep the _lembas_ for later in their journey when they could not forage.

The first time Faramir hauled his line in with something wriggling on the end, Frodo was surprised by how ugly the fish was. It was a dirty brown color, with what looked like whiskers dropping around its mouth. But when cleaned and cooked, it tasted well enough.

As they were starting out on their fourth night of travel, Faramir tapped Frodo on the shoulder before he climbed into the boat. Frodo paused, looked at him. Faramir leaned down, whispering into Frodo's ear.

"We are being followed, Frodo."

Frodo nodded. He was not surprised.

He leaned closer to Faramir. "It's probably Gollum," he whispered. "I saw him in Moria. He could have followed us out. Picked up our trail when we left Lothlorien. Gandalf told me he was one of the River Folk."

"Gollum?"

Frodo realized that Faramir probably did not remember what little had been revealed of Gollum at the Council.

"He had the Ring for centuries. Before Bilbo."

"Ah, yes. I remember. Well, try to keep an eye out for him, Frodo. He could bring Orcs down upon us or try to kill us himself."

Frodo nodded, and climbed into the boat, picking his way carefully. The Elven boats were both beautiful and sturdy, maneuvering through the water as quickly and smoothly as a swan, but they could be tricky when you were climbing in or out of them. More than once, Frodo had found himself suddenly sitting in water when he'd planned to be sitting in the bow or standing on the bank. And he had no desire to find himself sitting waist deep in the in the muddy water and rotting grasses of the fens.

That night's journey was their best yet. They only had to retrace their way twice, and made better time than they had earlier. Frodo tried to split his attention between paddling and watching the River, but he saw no sign of Gollum.

Later that day, as they were eating, Frodo told Faramir more about Gollum, sharing what Gandalf had told him about his earlier life, how he was taken by the Ring, how it changed him.

Faramir ate slowly, listening to what Frodo said. "It sounds as if the Nameless Enemy is able to work his will through the Ring and enslave others. Just as he enslaves all in his land. I have come to believe there are worse things than death, and such slavery, with no escape, is one of those things."

"I once wished Bilbo had killed Gollum," Frodo admitted. "But Gandalf made me see that the pity Bilbo showed was one reason he took little harm from the Ring.

"I have fought the Orcs the Enemy sends against us, and pity them as well. They are driven forward onto our blades by the terror that rides behind them. I do not believe they have any choice. They have been so warped over the ages that they can do nothing but His will."

Frodo gazed at Faramir in wonder. Frodo had not seen the Orcs who had attacked and taken Merry and Pippin captive, but he hated and feared the idea of them. He had not thought that Sauron's dominion over them was so overwhelming. He continued eating in silence, considering what Faramir had said.

And the words remained in his mind for some time.

Their journey continued. Frodo continued to be alert, but saw no sign of Gollum. Perhaps they had lost him in the winding ways of the fens.

On the ninth day since they left Parth Galen, dawn came, but they could find nothing even approaching solid ground upon which to spend the day. What looked to be small islands dotting the brown water turned out to be drifting vegetation caught on dead trees, tipping perilously low in the water as Frodo carefully set his foot on one.

Pulling back into the boat, Frodo sat. "What should we do?"

The boat tilted as Faramir rose to look around. Frodo turned cautiously to face him, holding onto the sides of the boat to balance. Faramir pushed the hood of his cloak back, shaded his eyes, looked around. Then he sat back down, rubbing his chin.

"I suppose we should choose one of the larger ones," he said, "and tie our boat to it. The currents are so slow here, that I doubt it will move much during the day. There won't be much shelter, but I don't feel it's likely to rain. And we need to rest."

"Sleep in the boat?" Frodo was dismayed.

Faramir smiled at him. "It's hard, but dry," he said.

Frodo grunted, but said nothing further. As he ate his ration of _lembas_ and sipped cautiously at the water they'd boiled the day before, he found himself remembering the beds at Elrond's house. He'd gotten used to sleeping on the ground, and even could face another night in one of the Lothlorien's Elves' _talans_, but in the bottom of a boat!

"I miss sleeping in a bed," he said.

Faramir tossed his last fishing line over the side and slid down to sit closer to Frodo, an arm around him.

"Just sleeping?"

Frodo snuggled closer. "That too, but right now, mostly just sleeping. Warm and dry, nestled in a soft featherbed, curled up on big pillows, under the comforter. And sleeping at night."

"My poor Frodo," Faramir said. "Why don't you let me get both blankets out, and you can lie on them, and put your head on my leg. It's not like a featherbed, but maybe you'll be a little more comfortable."

Frodo sighed and agreed. Lying on both blankets, folded, and feeling Faramir's warm thigh under his face, his hand on his shoulder, was more comfortable than he'd expected. He was able to fall asleep easily.

Much later, Frodo woke with a start. The day was darker than when he'd fallen asleep, and from his stomach, he was sure it was much later. Pushing himself up, he saw that Faramir was sound asleep, sitting slumped over, his head at what must have been an uncomfortable angle.

"Faramir," Frodo said quietly, touching his shoulder, not wanting to startle him too much.

"Hmmm?" Faramir sat up slowly. Then as he looked around, rubbing his neck, he said, "My apologies, Frodo. I fell asleep. That is unforgivable."

"Well, we're safe and rested," Frodo said. "If any Orcs were in the area, the boat and our cloaks must have hidden us."

"I suppose."

Moving quietly, Frodo folded the blankets while Faramir checked his fish lines. He had caught two small ones.

Given their current situation, Frodo thought that Faramir would toss them back, or save them for the next day, but he quickly and deftly cleaned them. He put several slices of the fish on one of the dried leaf wrappings from the _lembas_ bread and offered it to Frodo.

"What's that?" asked Frodo, horrified, but taking it when Faramir continued to hold it out.

"Daymeal," Faramir said, beginning to munch on his.

"But…it's raw." Frodo felt sick.

"Well, we cannot cook it here, Frodo, and please, keep your voice down."

Frodo stared glumly at the raw fish. There was no help for it. Cautiously, he raised one piece and took a small bite. Chewed briefly and swallowed quickly.

It was cool, slick, and had little taste. Which was all for the best, Frodo thought. Staring over the darkening water, he forced himself to eat quickly, washing bites down with small sips of water. They had not been able to boil more water either, so what they had would have to last until the next day or until they could find ground solid enough to land on.

When they had finished their fish, Faramir broke a wafer of waybread in half to share. Then they picked up their paddles and continued down Anduin.

 

** _March 5-8, 3018_ **

That night and the next, the River suddenly gathered itself together, narrowing, and began moving more quickly to the Sea. Early on the tenth night since they had left Parth Galen, Frodo looked downstream to see a looming shape, a shape he first thought was a huge ship, in the dark. White foam boiled around the base.

"Cair Andros," Faramir said. "Make for the eastern shore. We will be traveling no further by River."

Taking the boat out of the main current was hard work, and slow, but Frodo and Faramir persevered, eventually bringing the boat to a narrow bank, rocky and slippery. Faramir leaped out and pulled the boat as high as he could, then helped Frodo out.

"Where are we?" Frodo asked quietly.

Faramir paused after he had slung his pack on. "The island you see in the River is Cair Andros, one of our Outposts. The other is north of here, Henneth Annûn. We're about fifty miles north of Minas Tirith. We must leave the River here, travel across Cormallen and south through Ithilien to the Cross-roads. It should take us perhaps three nights. We must be careful, Frodo. The Rangers, all men whose families lived in Ithilien patrol Ithilien. I have commanded here in the past, but they routinely change their patrols. We travel at night, carefully, and spend the day in concealment."

Frodo nodded, remembering the maps he had studied in Rivendell, picked up his pack, and made sure his water bottle was firmly attached.

Faramir pulled the boat further out of the water. He took the two coils of elven rope out and stowed them in his pack.

"What are you going to do with it?" Frodo asked. He laid his hand on the prow of the boat which had carried them so far and so faithfully. He thought he felt it quiver under his hand, push against it almost like Bill the Pony had when you stroked his nose.

"I'll take it further into the woods, hide it," Faramir said. "I don't want anybody to find it and start tracking us."

"Wait," Frodo said. "Why don't we send it down the River? It would be even less likely anybody could find it, and…" he stopped, embarrassed at what he had been about to say.

"And what, Frodo?" Faramir's voice was soft.

"And I think it would prefer that to being left in the woods," Frodo whispered.

After a moment, Faramir said, "That's a good idea. Help me?"

Frodo knew Faramir didn't need his help, but he was glad he'd asked. Together they slid the boat over the ground and into the water. Faramir made sure both paddles were inside and released it. The current quickly pulled the boat out and away. They stood a few moments, straining their eyes to see it, but it was soon lost to sight.

"The River will carry it past Cair Andros, through ruined Osgiliath, into South Ithilien and past Pelargir, to the Mouths of Anduin, and from there to the Great Sea, under the stars," Faramir said.

Frodo was content. It seemed right to set the elven boat on the way to the Sea.

After a moment, Faramir turned and led the way into the scented night. Above, the moon was waxing round and cast a silvery light which not only let them see the ground they were walking on but turned the trees and plants around them a silvery green color that reminded Frodo of parts of Lothlorien.

Frodo began to enjoy himself. He was happy to be off the River, away from the plains and fens which had provided little cover. Walking through the woods, smelling the many night scents, he felt at home. He had always loved woods, associating them with the Elves, and felt safer in them than in the open. And he liked walking in woods at night.

They walked for several hours, Faramir leading Frodo unerringly to a road that was narrow, with the paving-stones covered with weeds, but cut through the wilderness. They rested near a small fast-running stream where they filled their water bottles. As they rose to begin walking again, a cold wind came from the east.

The light above was cut off. A dark wave of cold and fear came over Frodo. He dropped to his knees, cowering, as a shriek sounded in the night. He saw spectral white figures surrounding him, as they had on Weathertop, the darkness in their eye sockets somehow focused on him. The largest one, looming in front of him, held a sword and a dagger.

Frodo knew what they wanted.

"You cannot have it," he shouted, or tried to shout.

Their mocking laughter sounded in their ears as they reached out to him. To take him to Mordor. A cold fire pierced his shoulder, and he fell back, twisting in agony as the knife bit deep into him, seeking his heart.

Frodo despaired, knowing that his quest had failed, and reached out to the darkness.

* * * * * * *

Frodo opened his eyes, reluctant, feeling the pain in his shoulder. He half-expected to see Gandalf, to be waking in a bed in Rivendell. Instead, he was lying in deep fragrant grass, wrapped in blankets and cloaks, under the dropping branches of a large cedar tree. Beside him, Faramir slept, lying on his back.

Frodo tried to move, but he was wrapped so tightly in multiple layers that it was difficult. As he wiggled about, trying to unwrap himself, Faramir woke.

"Frodo!"

Faramir leaned over him, placing a hand on his chest to hold him down.

"Frodo, be careful."

Frodo quit moving, but he was confused.

"What's wrong? What day is it? Where are we? What happened?"

Faramir laughed as he started unwinding the layers around Frodo. "You must be feeling better if you can ask so many questions. You collapsed last night, it's March 6. We're in Ithilien, of course."

Frodo sat up, stretching. The day was warm. He could see sunlight through the trees, the grass starred with small flowers. The air was soft with fragrance.

"How do you feel?" Faramir was watching him intently.

Frodo frowned, a hand to his shoulder. He could still feel pain, a dim echo of what he'd felt when he was wounded. The memory of last night was coming back to him.

"Was it the Black Riders?" he asked. "Were we attacked?" It seemed impossible that Faramir could have fought them all off.

"I believe that a Nazgûl flew over us last night," Faramir said. "I heard its cry. Then you collapsed. You felt cold to the touch, and I dared not build a fire. So I wrapped you as well as I could and lay beside you."

"I thought I saw them, as I had at Weathertop. And felt as if I was wounded, again." Frodo shivered, but the warmth of the air was soaking into him. The light of day and the birdsongs all around him were helping him recover quickly. "But I am feeling better now, stronger. And hungry." He looked at Faramir hopefully.

Faramir laughed. "That's good to hear. I've set snares, but I don't want to visit them until after sunset. Have some waybread."

Faramir dug into his pack and gave Frodo a wafer of _lembas_, refusing to eat anything himself. He had eaten earlier, he said, and Frodo hadn't. Frodo ate the food and drank water, Faramir encouraging him to drink as much as he needed. They could refill their bottles easily in the many streams of Ithilien.

Folding the blankets, Faramir set them against the tree trunk, encouraged Frodo to lean against them. He wanted to stay under cover till dark. Faramir reclined next to him, leaning on one arm.

"Tell me something about this place," Frodo said. "You said you served here. It's beautiful."

Faramir smiled at him. "I love it," he said. "It is a country of woods and hills, streams and waters. Some call it the 'garden of Gondor.' It is protected by hills and mountains to the east and north, so the south winds carry moisture and warmth into it. Spring comes early, and the land is always green even in winter."

"Do people live here?"

"Not any more," Faramir said. "We did generations ago. But our people have been driven out by the Enemy. We maintain outposts, no more, and try to patrol the land. Perhaps when this is over, that will change."

Frodo felt Faramir's sadness, but could think of nothing to comfort him. Looking around at the trees and plants around him, he could identify only a few. "I wish Sam could see this," he said.

"Sam?"

"A friend," Frodo said. "In the Shire. He's a gardener, and I was thinking he would love to see Ithilien."

Faramir nodded, and they sat a while in silence, enjoying the peace and beauty around them. Frodo found his eyes drifting shut again, gave in to the temptation to lean back and sleep.

This sleep felt refreshing and deep. When Frodo next woke, the light was fading as the sun set. Faramir was still sitting next to him, keeping watch.

Frodo stretched and reached out for his water bottle, drinking thirstily.

"I'm glad you're awake, Frodo. I want to check my snares, but we should be leaving soon. If you are able to travel?"

"I'm fine," Frodo said, hastily. He was not sure what had happened last night, but he did not want to delay any more than he had already.

Faramir waited until the sun had set and the shades of evening were drawing in, then stood. "Stay here, Frodo, and keep on your guard," he said, then faded into the woods. He moved as quietly as Aragorn, and the elven cloak he wore shielded him from view.

Frodo sat quietly, Sting in his hand. His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. As he sat, breathing, he began to feel a connection to the land around him. A sense of rightness in most places, but darkness, corruption in others. He shook his head, wondering if he was dreaming.

When he looked up, he saw a gleam in the twilight some distance away, two points of light, that suddenly disappeared. Heart pounding, he stood, holding Sting out in front of him. The blade did not gleam, so he knew no Orc was near. But listening, Frodo thought he could hear a hiss.

Frodo stood, his back to the tree, sword held firmly, watching for some time, but saw and heard nothing more. Finally, Faramir appeared.

"I was lucky, there were two--" Faramir stopped speaking. "Frodo, what's wrong?"

"I thought I saw Gollum," Frodo said, sheathing Sting and sitting down. "Just a glimpse."

"That's unfortunate," Faramir said. "I hope he does not alert the Rangers to our presence. Or Orcs. I saw no sign of him. We'll have to take care tonight."

Faramir and Frodo packed the blankets away, and prepared to leave. During that night's march, Frodo nearly stumbled several times because he was trying to watch behind them. More and more, he was sure he could feel Gollum's eyes on him and sense his malice.

Their march that night was uninterrupted despite Frodo's sense of being watched. As he walked through the glades and trees, enjoying the fragrant air, he wondered if Gollum would cause his quest to fail.

That morning, as light began to grow, pools of light appearing in the glades between trees, Frodo and Faramir took cover in a thicket of bay trees.

After they found a space hidden deep in the thicket, Faramir settled Frodo with the packs and supplies. Taking the two coils of silvery rope from his pack, Faramir disappeared quietly into the trees.

Frodo wondered what he was doing. Surely rabbit snares did not require rope.

When Faramir finally returned, he brought an armful of dry wood. Cutting the turf and digging a hole, he built a small smokeless fire. As the fire burned down to a bed of coals, he wrapped the skinned, cleaned rabbits he'd trapped the day before in a layer of leaves, then in mud which he made from mixing the earth he'd dug with water from his bottle, and buried the brown lumps in the coals, covering it all with another layer of earth.

Rising from his knees and brushing his hands off, he looked at Frodo and smiled. "They'll cook slowly," he said. "With no smoke and no odor to give us away."

They sat next to each other sharing a wafer of waybread and sipping water.

"I understand why we have to avoid the Orcs," Frodo said. "But you seem to be almost as worried about your Rangers. I thought you commanded them. How do they threaten us?"

"I was Captain in Ithilien," Faramir said. "But I left Minas Tirith without my father's permission, indeed, against his direct order. He gave Boromir the task of traveling to Imladris. I was to stay behind and command. I am not sure what my father's response was when he discovered my absence." Faramir folded and refolded the dried leaf wrapping he held, staring at the ground. "For all I know, he could have commanded my arrest. I did desert my post. At best, if the Rangers find us, they are under a standing order to take all strangers in front of the Steward. And Halflings are much the concern of my father since the prophecy that Boromir and I dreamed about. The Ring cannot go to Minas Tirith, Frodo. That was nearly the last thing Boromir said to me before I left him."

Frodo laid a hand on Faramir's knee, aching. The little he had heard of Lord Denethor from Faramir and Boromir left him angry at the man who had treated both his sons as he had.

Faramir looked at him and smiled. "My City is at war. All who serve her must be wary of strangers in her lands. So we must avoid the Rangers. As well as the Orcs."

Slipping an arm around Frodo's shoulders, Faramir pulled him close. Frodo snuggled eagerly close to him, putting his arms around Faramir. But when Faramir bent down, it was to whisper to Frodo, "I've set traps in the thicket around us, Frodo. I hope to catch Gollum. We must both appear to sleep. But one must stay awake. Do you think you can do it?"

Frodo nodded, pushing down his disappointment. He told himself it would be foolish to make love when under such threat.

"I'll watch first. You sleep," Faramir whispered.

The air was so warm that they used their blankets simply as pillows. Lying down, Faramir pulled Frodo down beside him. Frodo rested his head on Faramir's shoulder and closed his eyes. His pretense at sleep soon turned into the real thing.

Later, when Faramir woke him, Frodo took his turn, lying still, eyes half closed, listening as hard as he could.

The day passed slowly this way, but the light dwindling eventually showed the sun was setting.

Faramir dug the cooked rabbits out of the hole in the ground, breaking the hardened mud off them with the hilt of his knife. Then he unwrapped them, handing Frodo a portion on clean leaves. The meat was warm, savoury, and Frodo eagerly devoured what he was given.

Much better than raw fish, he thought as he cleaned his greasy hands on the grass.

A shriek and crashing noises brought him to his feet, fumbling for Sting.

Faramir said, "Come with me, Frodo," and led the way through the thicket.

Some distance away from where they had slept, Faramir stopped. Frodo could see the branches of a tree shaking wildly, and he heard, "Curse them, curse them, my Preciousss, they've cheated, they have. Nassty rope burnsss!"

Faramir knelt at the base of the tree, and Frodo suddenly realized he was untying the elven rope. Carefully, he rose, letting the rope run slowly through his hands. Out of the branches, struggling, descended Gollum, arms and legs roped close to his body, twisting and trying to bite at the rope, hissing his anger.

"Frodo, your sword," Faramir said, and Frodo stepped forward, holding Sting to Gollum's throat.

Gollum hissed, and his eyes gleamed.

"Don't move," Frodo said, trying to sound commanding.

Coiling the rope, Faramir came over to them.

"I'd hoped we'd be able to catch the little footpad," Faramir said. "I did not think he had much experience with snares. And if we both looked to be asleep, he might be tempted to creep close."

Faramir knelt by Gollum. "Why are you following us?" he asked.

Gollum hissed and turned his head away. "Not following anyone, Precious. Caught in its nassty little trap, why's it making trapses, eh?"

"You've been following us since Moria," Frodo said. "I've seen you. I know who you are, Gollum, and you know who I am."

"P'rhaps we doess, Precious," Gollum said sullenly.

"And I know what you want. You cannot have it."

"Thiefs, Baggins, you stole it from us!" Gollum's voice rose, and he writhed against the ropes. "Sssssss, stole it, and now you hurtss us with nassty ropes that burnss us, Precious. So cruel, so heartlesss! Nassty Men, nassty hobbitses!"

Faramir sighed, drawing his knife. At the sight of the blade, Gollum cowered away.

"Frodo, we cannot have him following us."

"You cannot kill him!" Frodo was surprised to discover that he felt pity for the wretched creature before him, trapped not only by the ropes, but by his everlasting desire for the Ring which had taken his life.

In a long moment, Frodo realized that the longer he had carried the Ring, the more he could understand what Gollum had felt in the long centuries he had been enslaved. Now, seeing him on the ground, sniveling, he understood finally what Gandalf had told him. He could not deal out death so hastily.

Faramir looked at him, steadily. "I do not wish to kill anyone," he said. "Although from what Gandalf said, this creature has done murder many times over. But he imperils your quest. If we release him, he could try to kill us on his own, or betray us to the Orcs."

Twisting, Gollum managed to roll closer to Frodo. "Pleassse, do not hurts us, kind hobbit! We promises to be good, we does!"

"Faramir," Frodo said desperately. "Please. We cannot do this. Gandalf would want him spared, I know. He hoped that Gollum could be healed."

Faramir shut his eyes a moment, then opened them. "Very well, Frodo. But what will we do with him?"

Frodo did not know. He knelt by Faramir, watching Gollum, who lay quietly, eyes half closed, watching them both.

"Can you release him?" Frodo asked.

"I could, but I would not choose to until he has given us some assurance that we can trust him. And until I know what you plan to do with him."

"You said you would promise to be good," Frodo said to Gollum. "How can I believe you when you have followed us so long with malice?"

"We will swear…I will swear…to serve the Masster of the Preciousss," said Gollum, opening his eyes wide and staring into Frodo's. "I…we will do whatever you askss, Precious, to help. Yes, _gollum_, we will."

Frodo looked at Faramir. "I think we can ask no more," he said. "Please, release him."

Faramir looked doubtful, but, setting his knife down close to hand, began to untie the various knots that bound the rope so tightly to Gollum. As soon as he was free, Gollum stood and pranced around, chuckling, as he stretched.

Faramir and Frodo stood. After a few moments, Gollum came and stood close to Frodo.

"Where is Masster going?" he asked. "We wonders, yes, we does."

"You know," Frodo said. "Or you can guess. We are going to Mordor. To the Mountain of Doom."

Gollum crouched, hissing, his hands covering his ears. "Sssssss, don't say it, _gollum_, it'ss evil, sssssss."

"Can you help us find the way?" Frodo asked.

"No," Faramir said, standing, sheathing his knife, but gripping the hilt. "I will not trust him to guide us. He will lead us astray."

"You've been in Mordor, haven't you, Gollum? Can you guide us?" Frodo asked.

Faramir bit his lip, but said nothing. Frodo knew from the long meetings in Elrond's library that none of the Company had been inside the Black Land. But Gollum had. And whether he had escaped or been allowed to think he had escaped, he had still traveled in Mordor.

"Yesssss, we have, but good Master doesn't want to go there, no," Gollum whined. "Evil Orcses, dusst, asshess, all dead there, Precious. We doesn't want to go there, no, we doesn't."

"I must go there," Frodo said wearily. "And you must accompany us. We cannot let you go."

"Whatever Master says," Gollum said, sidling away from Faramir.

"If you're determined upon this, Frodo, so be it," Faramir said. "But come with me now to retrieve the other rope."

Frodo followed Faramir through the thicket to another spot some distance from where they'd slept where Faramir dismantled his other snare, coiling the rope. Gollum walked behind Frodo, hissing quietly to himself.

They returned to where they'd left their packs. As Gollum sat quietly, Faramir buried what was left of the fire. They packed their blankets and the ropes and made ready to set out on the night's journey.

Faramir hoped this march would take them nearly to the Cross-roads. There, the next night, they could turn east, pass Minas Morgul, and find the pass of Cirith Ungol.

** _ March 9 - 13, 3018_ **

Chilled and shaking, Frodo sat in a small bay between two great buttresses of rock. They had climbed two stairs, the second longer than the first, and were approaching the top of the pass of Cirith Ungol. The climb had left him sweating, but the chill air that blew over him dried the sweat.

Faramir had insisted they stop when they saw the light in the black tower that overlooked the pass. Finding a place to hide, he told Frodo to rest while he scouted the area before they began the next passage. His distrust of Gollum, who sat a few steps away, was clear.

Frodo could hear Gollum muttering to himself. Tired as he was, he began to fancy that he spoke in two voices, one higher, one lower. Was arguing with himself.

The last two marches had taken them out of Ithilien, past the Morgul Road that led to the loathsome stronghold of the Nazgûl. Frodo shivered. As they were passing the entrance to that dark valley, what seemed to be signals, tremendous beacons of light and noise had passed between Minas Morgul and what Faramir had said must be Barad-dûr. Frodo had feared that somehow the Ring had been able to signal those within and they would be caught.

But when a vast host marched out, Orcs and Men, many marching, some riding on wargs or on horses, led by the dread King clad in black, Faramir had told Frodo that this was likely the first movement of a long-planned march against Osgiliath. Against Gondor.

Caught in what seemed like an endless journey, Frodo thought of the Companions he had left behind. Even if they won against the Orcs who had attacked at Parth Galen, they must be caught up in this war as well. The forces seemed so immense, so powerful, and here he was, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, trying to win his way into the Black Land.

Mordor loomed on the edge of so many of the stories told by the elves, a place of great evil and death. What fate led him here, trying to enter it, in the face of such danger? What story would eventually be told, or would all stories fall into darkness if he were caught and the Ring taken?

Shifting uneasily on the hard stone, Frodo tried to distract himself. "Gollum, hey, Gollum! Can you tell me what lies ahead?"

Faramir had some knowledge of the pass, but Frodo knew that they would soon come to where his knowledge failed. And Frodo suspected Gollum knew something that he was not willing to say.

"Ssssss, we've done the Straight Stair and the Winding Stair. Good Master. Now as soon as the nasssty Man returns, we'll have to go through the tunnel. When you get through that, you're at the top. Nearly."

"And then? What about that tower? The way is guarded."

"And then, we'll ssee," Gollum said softly. "Oh, yesss, Preciouss, we'll ssee. All ways are guarded, sssssss. We must go soft and quiet as shadowssss, and hope they've all gone to the war."

"They haven't," Faramir said, appearing as a shadow in the gloom behind Gollum. It had been several days since they'd seen daylight disappear behind the brown fumes that came from Mordor. This darkness seemed to be permanent.

Frodo jumped. He had not heard Faramir approach, but Gollum just crouched further on the ground, hissing to himself.

"There are Orcs in the tower," Faramir said quietly, sitting by Frodo. I could see the torches they carried. And hear them shouting. We should wait a while before attempting the tunnel."

"Very well," Frodo said. They ate, Frodo offering Gollum some of the _lembas_. His earlier attempt to eat it had failed, but Frodo could see nothing else for the poor starveling to eat here. Gollum refused though he accepted some of their water.

"Drink all you can," Faramir said. "Although water will be hard to find as we go into the Black Land, I found a small stream and filled my bottle. We can fill all of them before we move on."

Frodo was glad to drink deeply. The air here made his throat dry.

Faramir and he sat quietly, Faramir's arm around Frodo. Frodo rested his head against Faramir's chest.

"I wonder where our friends are," he said quietly.

"We can hope they have found refuge somewhere," Faramir said. "Perhaps with the Rohirrim, the Horse-lords. Boromir knows that land and people well. There, they would be as safe as possible in these times."

Frodo had not heard much about the Rohirrim before, other than the fact that Gandalf had been given a horse there after his escape from Isengard. "Tell me about them," he asked, hoping for a story to distract him from his fears.

Faramir settled himself more comfortably. "Their ancestors came from the North long ago, led by Eorl the Young. Then they came to the aid of Gondor and were gifted with that land where they now live. My brother told me they are truthful, generous, loving their horses as their kin. They have no writing, passing knowledge on by means of songs which all learn from childhood. They are our allies, different from us in many ways, living scattered among the herds and fields of Rohan. Their king, Théoden, lives at Edoras, a walled city, in a great golden hall, Meduseld. I have never had a chance to visit them although I have read about them. They fight on horses, with spears and swords. Boromir said they were fearless in battle, singing as they killed. He fought with them against the Orcs and the Dunlendings, hill folk, who were in alliance."

So many people, Frodo thought, living in the wide world outside the Shire. More and more his home, much as he loved it, seemed isolated to him. Hobbits never thought to wonder about the other peoples in Middle-earth, content to go from day to day about their own business. Not a bad way to live--hobbits did not harm others, did not try to take their land--but perhaps limited. The danger was in becoming smug about their lives and not caring about others.

Faramir tensed, and Frodo raised his head.

"Where is Gollum?" Faramir asked.

Frodo looked over at where Gollum had been sitting. He was no longer there. And Frodo had no idea when he had left them.

"I don't know," he said. "Perhaps he's gone to search for food."

"Perhaps. I do not like his sneaking off in such a way," Faramir said. "I hope he's not gone to the Tower to betray us."

"I think his promise holds him," Frodo said. "And more, he would not want the Ring to fall into the hands of others. He wants it for himself. He followed our Company, and us, for days and did nothing. No doubt he could have led Orcs to us many times, if he had wished."

"True, but I cannot help but feel he has some betrayal in mind."

"He may wish to do so," Frodo admitted. "But I think the power of the Ring will bind him to his word, however much he struggles."

Faramir said nothing else, but Frodo was sure he was not convinced.

Then, "Do you wish to sleep a while?" Faramir asked. "I will keep watch."

"Yes," Frodo said. "I could sleep even here."

"Wrap your cloak around you, and lay your head in my lap, then."

Frodo did as Faramir said, curling up next to him, and, despite the hard stone under him and the chill wind, soon fell asleep.

* * * * * * *

When Frodo woke, he stretched, feeling surprisingly refreshed, as if he had dreamed of a fair green place. The sky was darker above him.

"What time is it?" he asked quietly.

"I believe it is nearly the middle of the night, but it's hard to tell without being able to see the stars. I think we must go on, Frodo, without Gollum. He has not returned."

Frodo sat up, trying to see in the darkness. "If you think it best," he said. He stood and picked up his pack. Faramir led the way out of the shelter they'd found and up the path. After a while, he paused.

"The water I found is over here," he said, moving to the right where, hidden between huge boulders, a trickle of water meandered. It was slow filling their bottles, but Faramir insisted upon filling all four to the brim.

Then they returned to the main path, moving toward a huge bulk of stone which loomed ahead.

Frodo sniffed the air. "That's a horrible stench," he said. As they came in sight of the passage that led under the massive stone, the smell worsened.

"I suppose that's the tunnel," Frodo said.

"I'm afraid so."

Frodo adjusted his pack and straightened his shoulders. This was the last march before Mordor. He had never expected to get this far, and, unbidden, a small green shoot of hope seemed to unfold.

Then he followed Faramir into the stinking darkness of the tunnel.

* * * * * * *

Frodo and Faramir stood at bay, caught between the monstrous spider they had glimpsed in the light of the star-glass and the thickly woven web that blocked the only exit they had found.

They could neither go forward nor retreat back down the tunnel to search for other exits.

"Hold the glass steady," Faramir said. "Let me try to cut a way out."

Frodo stepped away to give Faramir room to swing his sword, holding the Phial aloft, staring back down the way they had come. He was sure the monster lurked there, beyond the light, waiting.

Frodo heard Faramir grunt, heard the dull sound of his sword striking again and again.

"It's no use," Faramir said. "My blade does nothing. We are trapped, Frodo."

Keeping careful watch, Frodo said, remembering Bilbo thrusting the blade deep into a pillar with little effort, "Take Sting. It's an elven blade from ages past. See if it will cut the web."

He felt Faramir tug Sting from its sheath. A pause, the sound of a blade cutting through air and something else.

Frodo felt a draft of cold air upon his neck.

"It works," Faramir said, joyfully. "A moment, Frodo, and we'll be free…..Now, Frodo."

Carefully Frodo backed up, then, as the fresher air swept past him, he thrust the Phial back into his tunic, turned, and ran.

Faramir, holding both blades ready, let him pass, then followed him.

Frodo felt as if he had drunk a bottle of the potent wine of Rivendell. The land outside seemed to be much brighter than the fetid darkness they had struggled through for what seemed like days. The sky was lit by a sullen red glare, but it seemed beautiful. Exulting, Frodo ran for the pass, sure that they would win safely through. It was a short distance, one they could easily cross in a few moments.

Suddenly, a hard blow from behind struck him to the ground. Stunned, Frodo struggled to breathe. When the darkness passed from his eyes, he found himself lying on his stomach and could see, on either side of him, Faramir's boots. He was standing above Frodo.

"What?"

"Stay down, Frodo. Look--the spider approaches."

Turning his head, Frodo saw the huge squelching body of the monster, running toward them from above and to his left. They had left the spider behind, he thought, but apparently it had more than one exit from the tunnel. It had circled around and was attacking on open ground.

He could hear the creaking, bubbling noises it made as it ran, bounding toward them. Horribly fast.

Just beyond reach of Faramir's sword, it stopped. Frodo was glad for the dimness which masked its bulk though not its stink. Huge globed eyes shining with a pale fire considered them, and its malice was clear.

Faramir struck first, aiming a blow at one of its jointed legs, but his sword had little effect. Swaying back and forth, the spider seemed to hesitate, then leaped forward, over them, its vast belly glowing green. Faramir slashed up with both blades, and the huge form arched up, liquid dripping from the wounds to fall around them, bubbling. Another blow took out one of its eyes as its head dipped low toward them.

But then the bulk poised above them, quivering, began to descend. Frodo thought they would be crushed under it, but, dropping his sword, Faramir clasped Sting in both hands and held it straight up. Down, down, the creature pushed, thrusting itself upon the sharp blade.

Faramir fell to his knees, and Frodo could hear his harsh breathing as he strove against the great weight. At the last moment, when Frodo thought they would both be crushed to death, the bulk heaved up and away from them, the spider bounding backwards, away from what must have been agonizing pain.

Gasping, Faramir collapsed, twisting away from Frodo, to lie beside him, one leg over Frodo's.

Dizzy from the stench of the spider and the poison it had dropped, Frodo raised his head to see the monster only a short distance away, crouched, still watching, head cocked to bring its remaining eye to bear on them. Faramir could do no more, Frodo thought, and if it attacked again, they would be lost.

Then, almost in a dream, Frodo fumbled in his tunic, fingers touching the Phial of Galadriel. Crawling forward, freeing himself from the weight of Faramir's leg, Frodo stood.

"Galadriel," he said. And then, remembering one night in the Hall of Fire, he cried:

_Gilthoniel A Elbereth!_

A Elbereth Gilthoniel  
O menel palan-diriel,  
Le nallon si di'ngurthos!  
A tiro nin, Fanuilos!

The glass blazed in his hand, a torch, a beacon, white light flaming like a star falling from the sky to set the world alight. He walked forward.

And before him, the wounded creature fell back, turning its head, flailing its legs, and then retreating, crawling back toward the black hole they had escaped through that led back to the tunnel. Slowly, Frodo followed, feeling the power of the light about him, seeing it retreat into the tunnel until it was lost to sight.

The light dwindled in his hand, and, coming to his senses, Frodo quickly hid the glass in his tunic. Faramir had said the tower was held by Orcs, and surely they would have heard the noises of the battle or seen the light.

Turning, Frodo ran as quickly as he could, stumbling, back to Faramir, who was pushing himself up.

"Are you all right," Frodo fell to his knees beside him, feeling his arms and body for injury.

"Yes, it was just the smell and the weight. We must move quickly. Clean your sword." Faramir pushed himself up, wiping the stinking fluids off his sword on his cloak and sheathing it.

Following his example, Frodo cleaned Sting, seeing the blade blazing blue as he fumbled it into the sheath.

"Orcs are coming," he said.

"I know--listen."

Frodo listened, hearing shouts echoing through the tunnel behind him, and from the tower ahead of them.

"What do we do?"

"Hide."

Faramir grasped Frodo's arm and pulled him along.

Frodo tried to force himself to move faster, but seeing the bare path and the looming cliffs on either side of him, he could see any place to hide. Just as he became aware of torches on the path above, Faramir yanked him to the left. Frodo saw the black hole from which the giant spider had emerged.

Frodo pulled back. "It's dangerous to go back there," he protested.

"It's wounded, perhaps dead," Faramir said, turning and picking him up and dashing into the tunnel. "But there are at least two companies of Orcs out there."

Faramir halted past the first turn in the tunnel, setting Frodo down, kneeling beside him, an arm around him. "Be quiet," he whispered.

Frodo stood, heart pounding, and tried his best to quiet his breathing. He could see the flicker of torches reflected against the wall, hear the heavy footsteps and the harsh voices of the Orcs.

Perhaps it was the Ring he carried, but the longer he listened, the more he seemed to understand their words. Or else they were using the Common Tongue among themselves. He vaguely remembered Gandalf saying once that the different Orc tribes each had their own language although all had their origins in the Black Speech.

Faramir was right. One company of Orcs had come up from Minas Morgul, ordered to investigate the report of an enemy on the Stairs. The other company was stationed in the Tower of Cirith Ungol and had come out because something or someone, the Silent Watchers he thought they said, had been uneasy.

There was an outcry when some of them found the mess where they had fought the spider. Frodo bit his lip, concentrating. Yes, at least one of the leaders wasordering them to search the area, including the tunnels. The orcs were arguing. They apparently feared the spider, Shelob they called it, as well. Frodo heard blows, cries.

He dared to lean close to Faramir. "I can understand some of what they say," he breathed quietly. "They're going to search the tunnels. They saw there was a fight and know there is an enemy nearby."

He felt Faramir nod, then grabbed at him as he stood, shedding his pack.

Faramir hesitated, then knelt again, arms tight around Frodo.

"Frodo, you have the Ring. Stay here. Cover yourself with the elven cloak. Use the Ring if necessary. You cannot be captured. I will go out."

Frodo clung to him, anguished, burying his face in his shoulder. "No!"

"If I go out, they may not search further. Love, we must do this." Faramir stroked his head.

Biting his lip until it bled to keep from weeping, Frodo forced himself to release Faramir, stepped back. "Take this then," Frodo said, pulling Sting out and holding the hilt out to Faramir. Faramir hesitated, then took the weapon in one hand, drawing his sword with the other, moving quietly away, a shadow against the red glare from beyond for a moment, then gone.

Frodo fell to his knees, huddling in on himself, wrapping himself in his cloak. He felt the weight of the Ring growing, its gloating malice burning against his chest, more strongly than he had in days, as if Faramir's absence freed it.

He heard jubilant cries, the clash of swords, shouted orders. The noise grew louder, and Frodo listened, shuddering. Metal crashing against metal, shrieks of the wounded, and then suddenly, the noise lessened.

"Kill him, the filth," a harsh voice shouted.

Frodo sank his hands deep into the earth beneath him, waiting to hear the final blow.

"Back off, maggots! I have my orders, straight from Lugbûrz. Gorbag, get your rabble under control unless you want to be sent to play games with Shelob." Another voice, a bit deeper.

"Garn, look at the mess. This filth poked her good," a third voice, higher pitched.

"Poked her! Poked Shelob! Ya-hey!" came shouting, followed by a clash of weapons, then comparative silence.

"Tie him, but no games," the second voice said.

"He's fresh meat! Why waste time? Kill him and eat him now." Shouts of agreement. "Take him back to the tower and let's have some games." Other shouts.

The sound of blows, and a shriek. "All right, there's your fresh meat. Now will you listen? I have my orders, and it's death if they're not followed. Anyone found is to be held at the tower, stripped, full description of all clothes, weapons, jewelery sent to Lugbûrz immediately. And the prisioner is to be kept safe or we're all slated for the pot, maggots. When He comes, you'll see."

Orders. They had orders that mentioned jewelery. Frodo strained to hear what else was said.

"All right, Shagrat," the third voice said, sullenly. "Come on, lads, do what Captain Shagrat says. It's not worth arguing. And bring along the fresh meat for the pot. We'll be joining them for dinner."

"Hup, hup, hup. Bring 'im along, lads."

The clamour resolved itself into chanting, and what sounded like marching. As the noise faded, Frodo leaped to his feet, weeping. They had Faramir prisoner, and were taking him to the tower. What he'd heard of Orcs and their treatment of prisoners, and what he'd heard them say, chilled his blood. He could not leave Faramir.

But would Faramir expect him to? At Parth Galen, and just before he left the tunnel, Faramir had made the point that Frodo dared not take the risk of being captured.

Frodo writhed inside, his hand clasping the Ring. He could not leave Faramir. He could not be captured. And suddenly, relieved, he realized he dare not leave him in the hands of the Enemy. If the "He" that the orcs, Shagrat Frodo thought, had spoken of was, was, Sauron, if he came, Faramir could not help but reveal what he knew. His Eye and all his attention would be turned toward Mordor. Frodo would have no chance to get to the Mountain of Doom.

He had to try to rescue Faramir.

Forcing himself to think, Frodo slipped his pack off, bundling it together with Faramir's against the tunnel wall. He could carry his waterbottle and his knife. His cloak would shield him from unfriendly eyes. He could follow the Orcs, perhaps learn the way into the tower, and slip in and rescue Faramir. How that would happen he refused to consider at this point. He had to get into the tower first.

Moving as quietly as a hobbit could, Frodo slipped around the corner and moved down the tunnel. When he emerged from the darkness into the cooler air, he could see the last of the Orcs disappearing into the mouth of the tunnel below, the tattered web Faramir had cut still waving in the breeze. Wavering, Frodo hesitated, then drew out the Ring and slipped it on his finger. It was a risk, he knew, but so was being sighted by one of the Orcs and captured.

The gold Ring was heavy on his hand, almost burning, and Frodo saw the familiar world slip into greyness, solid shapes wavering around him. He felt as if he was the only solid thing in the universe, and that somewhere, a Great Eye was searching for him. He could hear the shouts of the Orcs ahead of him, and slowly, he followed.

He had to force himself back into the tunnel. No matter what Faramir had said, Frodo feared that the monstrous spider was still near, ready to attack again. But there was no sight or sound of it. Only the Orcs ahead. They moved through the tunnel easily, quickly, and at times Frodo could catch a glimpse of the ones carrying Faramir.

Perhaps the Ring gave him more sensitivity because Frodo noticed that although the black figures in the red light of the torches were fairly small and far ahead of him, he could clearly hear the two at the back talking.

"Where you putting 'im?" Gorbag said.

"Up at the top of the tower. I don't trust the lads, or you, when you're out for fun. Even if there are orders. He'll be safe there. And I'll have the only key."

Frodo forced himself to hurry despite his weariness but to no avail. The figures ahead of him marched through two large open doors, and the last ones paused to swing the doors shut. With a clang and a rattle, the huge stone doors, which apparently led into a passage of the tower, shut in front of Frodo. Shouts, the harsh blasts of horns, and laughter could be heard, and Frodo flung himself at the doors.

But he was too late. Faramir was inside, with the Orcs, and Frodo was outside. Lying on the stone, lost in the dark, Frodo fell senseless.


End file.
